Accidental Knight: A Marriage Mistake Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  Why the hell didn’t I shut that door?

  Slowly, furiously, Bella looks up. Her gaze rips through me like a dagger.

  “There you are. Finally. Care to tell me just what the hell this is?”

  7

  Trust Drake (Bella)

  I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

  What I’m reading.

  The last will and testament of Annabelle Amelia Reed-Larkin? Larkin?

  Not my name. Not today or tomorrow or ever.

  Oh, but that’s my signature, all right.

  Drake’s just standing there, staring at me, every easy explanation I hoped he’d spit out evaporating by the second.

  I grab the will out of the folder, tucked behind that mind-melting paper. There’s more.

  Proxy marriage? What the fricking hell is that?

  It’s got something to do with Annabelle Amelia Reed. Bride.

  And apparently, Drake Allen Larkin. Groom.

  “What’s going on? Why won’t you answer me?” It comes out almost as shrill as Mom’s voice, another thing that makes me cringe.

  Drake inhales sharply and holds up a huge hand, the same kind of gesture I use to calm Edison. “Listen, Bella, your grandf—”

  “Stop! Stop right there!” My parents’ visit might’ve pushed me to the edge, but this – this hot heap of craziness – shoves me right over the cliff without even a kiss goodbye.

  I need space. Air. Distance.

  Desperate to escape, I bolt past him, flying out the door and down the hall.

  His footsteps aren’t far behind.

  Oh, God. He’s following. Of course, he is, because that’s what major league creepers who swindle old men and marry their granddaughters without their permission do.

  So I break into a run, pumping my knees, a vicious burn slicing up my body as I stumble down the stairs and try not to fall on my face.

  Knowing it’s the only room with a deadbolt, I dash into Gramps’ old office and slam the door shut, locking it behind me.

  His fist slams into the door a second later. “Bella, open up! Let me explain. Please. This isn’t what it looks like.”

  Hell to the no.

  I’m in no mood to hear anything he has to say.

  There’s no rational excuse on earth that can explain away a sham marriage.

  My lungs hurt. I throw the file folder on the desk and plant my hands on my knees, lowering my head, stretching so I don’t pass out.

  Married to Drake Larkin? That’s effing impossible.

  And here I thought my parents were the bad guys.

  This entire situation is a stark raving nightmare. I lift my head, squeezing my temples before my head explodes.

  He’s still knocking on the door, fiddling with the knob, trying to force his way in. “Bella! I’m telling you...I can explain. I know this seems crazy. I know it’s fucked up. Just hear me out.”

  I hate how forlorn he sounds. Obviously, another trick.

  What the hell do I even do?

  Call the sheriff? The FBI? It’s fraud, plain and simple. Complete criminal fraud against me and against Gramps.

  That awful realization turns my shock into fury.

  Jesus Christ. No wonder he befriended my Grandpa and sat at his right hand for so many years.

  Mother was right. No man his age, who’s that good looking, lives in the middle of Nowhere, North Dakota on an old ranch with an old man.

  Not without a damn good reason, and even a hefty salary isn’t reason enough. Not to go this far.

  That two-timing maniac! I pinch my teeth together so hard my fillings threaten to pop out.

  Shooting around the desk, I yank the phone up to my ear.

  Thank God Gramps never gave up his landline. He only started using cordless phones because I bought him a pair several Christmases ago, so he didn’t have to sit next to the phone while talking to me.

  I’m about to dial 9-1-1 when the photos on the desk catch my eye. Two are of me, my senior yearbook photo and a more recent one Alexa took on a Cancun beach one spring break.

  There’s another pic of me and Gramps, maybe ten years ago, his soft hand draped over my lanky teenage shoulder.

  Then there’s a fourth with Gramps and the thief. Drake.

  But it’s the background that really catches my attention.

  “What the...” I pick up the picture, staring in bewilderment.

  It’s a recent photo. And I know exactly where they are.

  They’re both holding fishing poles, standing in front of a familiar lodge in Glacier National Park, Montana.

  I’ve been there once, seven or eight years ago, fishing with Gramps.

  For him, it was holy ground. A sentimental, private place. Because it’s where he took his bride on their honeymoon.

  I never knew my Grandma Martha. She died well before I was born, when my father was young. Gramps said Dad and I were the only other people he ever took to the lodge because it’s only for those he loves the most.

  A shiver pricks at my skin.

  Ugh. None of this makes sense.

  I set the phone down and drop into the chair, still looking at the picture. My brain, a total mess.

  I know Gramps was old, but his mind was just as sharp as always.

  I talked to him the night before he died. He was his same old self. And that same old self would never have been swindled by a con man like Drake.

  Unless he didn’t know.

  What am I thinking? Of course, he didn’t know.

  No one knows when they’re being conned. It’s one of those things that only hits you between the eyes after the fact, when you wake up with an emptied-out bank account or a bathtub full of ice, sans one kidney.

  I’m hardly immune.

  I honestly believed Drake was here to help me.

  I let his devilish good looks get into my head, missed the red flags because I was too fixated on bright-blue eyes and hard abs licked by tattooed sin.

  His presence alone helped so much this morning while I’d been at the corporate office, and later, here at the house. Knowing he was right behind me gave me courage. The strength to not lose it over my parents and Mr. Briar being here, hovering over me like a wounded animal.

  Crap. I was even looking forward to freaking enchiladas.

  That was fun. Betting him over Edison, and having a split second to wonder how he’d make dinner, and what he might say to me across the table...

  Stupid. So stupid it hurts.

  But the pounding on the door has stopped. Now what?

  I’m no closer to having any sane idea how to handle this.

  I set the picture on the desk, facedown, and slide the file folder closer. The newspaper articles Mr. Briar left behind slide along with it.

  Another pompous ass I don’t want to deal with. I’m not surprised he swooped in to buy the company so soon, and I’m not surprised my parents were ready to hand him the keys.

  They can’t just hand over everything overnight, though.

  Neither can I. Not for six months.

  That was in the will.

  Which makes me think, Mr. Sheridan! I could call him. Find out what I can do about this will, my rights, and this utterly insane proxy marriage. I still don’t even know what the hell that is, or why it’s a thing at all.

  I flip open the file folder and lift out the will, so I can tell the lawyer exactly what it says while it’s fresh in my mind. Then I turn to the back page, where someone obviously forged my signature.

  My heart stops. Reynold Sheridan wrote the will. Jonah Reed signed it as a witness.

  Inhaling sharply, I grab at the marriage certificate.

  Same thing. Reynold Sheridan and Jonah Reed signed this one, too. And the one behind it, a certificate of marriage from the state of Montana.

  Montana?

  My signature’s there again, and it isn’t forged. That’s my handwriting. No mistaking it.

  It had to be tucked into some of the paperwork I’d signed last nig
ht.

  Utility companies. Notices. Fake married.

  That sneaky, sneaky SOB. Make that several SOBs.

  But why is Gramps’ handwriting there too?

  Had they done the same thing to him? Made him believe he was signing other stuff?

  They’re clearly in on it together. Drake and Sheridan. They’re also listed in Grandpa’s will. Maybe they had him sign all this while drawing up the paperwork.

  If that’s true, they’re even greedier than my parents.

  I grab the phone to call the sheriff. I punch in a nine, but then stop.

  Gramps donated to Sheriff Wallace’s campaign every time he ran. They’re good friends. Have been for years, and Drake knows that. The fact he’d threatened the sheriff removing my parents from this house proves it.

  My mouth goes dry. Horrible possibilities crash through my head.

  Oh, God. Is the sheriff in on this scheme, too?

  I set the phone in its charger. That’s when the picture of Gramps with Drake in Montana catches my attention again.

  Actually, it’s the corner of a tan slip of paper sticking out of the back of the frame that draws my eye.

  Gramps!

  Twisting the little metal clasp out of the way and pulling the back off the frame, I can’t believe what I’m seeing. But it’s there. Another sticky note. Another little memento from beyond the grave.

  Trust your heart, Bella.

  Trust Drake, just like you always trusted me.

  Everything he’s gone and done was because I asked him to. And everything I’ve done is for you. I’d do it all over again without changing a single thing – except for seeing you one last time.

  Love, Gramps.

  My eyes tear up and my throat burns.

  There it is. Evidence I didn’t want to find.

  Proof he’s in on it, just like the prenup and the custody agreement. Damn it, maybe I’m the only one who was ever conned in all this.

  Hands shaking, I set the note down and close my eyes, refusing to give in to more tears. They haven’t helped me yet, and they aren’t going to start now.

  Seriously, Gramps? Marriage?

  You always told me I had all the time in the world to find a good man, the right man.

  I didn’t need to settle for less.

  Opening my eyes, I sigh. “Because I always had you,” I whisper his words.

  That’s what he always said. Even when he started to tease me around the time I turned eighteen, he said I should wait.

  Wait for someone good.

  Wait for someone who really gets 'the ticker humming' – his words.

  Wait for true love.

  Because there was no good reason to do anything else. As long as he was alive, he’d always take care of me.

  I have no idea how long I’ve sat here, numb, my mind going down so many twisty roads the inside of my head must look like a rush hour traffic jam.

  What I do know is it’s getting late. Dusk’s ash shadows drift in through the blinds, with only a hint of mellow orange fire, slowly overwhelming the last bits of sun.

  Reaching over, I click on the desk lamp in the darkness.

  Light shines down on the will, the proxy marriage license, the certificate, and on the red file folder.

  Swiveling the chair around, I pull open a bottom drawer. It’s full of file folders, too.

  Mostly red because that’s the drawer for important documents.

  I don’t even have to look. I already know. Some of these are Gramps’ copies of the same damning stuff on the desk – and most of them were outlined well before he died.

  Pushing the drawer shut, I put the will and marriage papers in the file folder, and stand.

  Answers. That’s what I need.

  I need someone to interpret that crazy note stat, that final living plea Gramps left behind to trust him and trust this...to trust this freaking imposter con man named Drake Larkin.

  I thought it couldn’t get any worse.

  Oh, baby, but it has.

  Living here for six months was one thing, but a proxy marriage from hell?

  I can’t do it. Can’t stay married to a total stranger. Not even for Gramps.

  It doesn’t even make sense that he’d ask. I run through all the possibilities why and come up with a big juicy nothing.

  Sighing, I walk to the door, ready to just face what’s on the other side.

  I’m not even sure I care anymore.

  The lock flips in my hands and I swing it open.

  Drake’s not there anymore. He’s long gone, somewhere in the kitchen.

  I can hear him, and the lights are on, glowing down the hall.

  I take a step, but the weight on my shoulders stops me. I’m alone here. With him.

  A man who married me sight unseen. Gramps may have trusted him, and told me to, but I’m so done with blind trust I could scream.

  All except Edison. He’s truly the only one I can still believe in.

  Needing that grounding, that quiet place to think, even if it’s with a horse, I turn and walk to the door.

  Very quietly, I open it and slip outside.

  I stand there for a moment in the cool darkness, on the steps, wondering if I should go upstairs and get my purse so I can drive to town and get a hotel room.

  My parents would have a field day with that, though. They’re staying at the only decent chain in town. The other place scares me, a ratty motel with a half burned out neon sign that never seems to house anything except suspicious, shadowy people who only crack their doors open at night.

  Damn.

  I should go upstairs, though, and get a candy cane for Edison like I’d promised.

  He’d been at the barn, just like I’d asked, so there’s no denying him his reward.

  I turn around and open the door, but a sharp thud and a whinny stops me.

  Edison, and not a sound he normally makes.

  Spinning, I hurry down the steps, racing toward the barn.

  It’s dark and shadowy there, this thick foreboding blackness threatening to swallow me up.

  The outside barn lights aren’t on like they were last night, like they’re supposed to be. I know those lights. They’re programmed, scheduled, automated.

  My nerves kick in, and I slow my pace. Coyotes, wolves, and even the odd mountain lion have nosed around the barn before.

  They’re the reason Gramps insisted on top-notch motion sensors. Not to mention teaching me how to shoot years ago. I’m grateful for those lessons, even if I’m long out of practice.

  Rifles, shotguns, pistols, I know how to use them all and had a permit to carry since I was old enough to get one. I’m sure the pistol he bought me is still in my table beside my bed upstairs.

  The gun cabinet in Drake’s closet was full of firearms, too, heavier than what Gramps normally used. But those must be his.

  All of Grandpa’s are in his office, in the glass gun case hanging on the wall, besides the handgun he kept by his bed, locked up safe and secure.

  I walk across the driveway, where I can see around one of the big pine trees planted on each side of it, wishing I was armed right now. Squinting against the darkness, I see something on the far end of the corral.

  Not an animal. It’s a pickup truck. A big one with stock racks.

  Edison lets out another whinny, a snort, the closest he’ll ever get to a scream.

  My heart skips a beat. Jesus, I have to do something.

  I scan the corral until I see movement.

  Two men have him cornered in the darkness, a rope around his neck, trying to lead him God only knows where.

  Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap, crap.

  I’m trying not to panic. This is one time quiet and stealth won’t help. I take off, bolting for the house, howling at the top of my lungs.

  I don’t even care that I’m relying on a man who might be less than upstanding himself; I just need someone, anyone, to get the hell out here and help me save Edison.

  “Drake, Dra
ke, Draaake!” I shout. “Get a gun, hurry!”

  I only stop long enough to see his face in the window, and then he tears away from it. Message received.

  Then I’m off again, racing back toward the corral, yelling, “Get away from him! Leave my horse alone!”

  Edison hears me and whinnies louder, an eerie shriek churning the night. His silhouette rears up, kicking with his front legs. He grazes one of the men with his hoof, who swears and takes off, his buddy right behind him.

  They head toward the truck, and just like a pissed off watchdog, Edison gives chase.

  “Edison, no!” I call out. I’m so afraid of him tripping on the ropes around his neck.

  He skids to a stop, but I keep running, rushing forward as fast as humanly possible.

  Until something snags just above the knee. Momentum reverses in an instant, throws me backward, and I go down hard.

  But as soon as I hit the ground, I’m pulled off it into mid-air.

  I’m so confused.

  The wind goes out of my lungs and I can’t get it back, let alone stand. My knees buckle, but I’m held up in someone’s tight grip.

  Drake.

  “You all right?” he shouts in my face.

  Air swoops into my lungs, but it burns. I have to cough before I finally shake my head.

  It takes another painful breath before I can speak. “Go on. Don’t let them get away.”

  But it might be too late.

  The truck has already roared away, tearing down the driveway, merging with the darkness.

  The arm I’d lifted to point at them falls limply at my side. Damn it all.

  I don’t know if the adrenaline is all gone or what, but I’m so weak I can barely stand. I have no choice but to slump against him. “They were trying to take him. Trying to steal Edison!”

  His huge arms fold around me, holding me up, and I lean harder against him, hoping the strength of his hard, massive body will transfer to me.

  “I know,” he says. “I told you to stop, Bella. You don’t know who they were. They could’ve shot you.”

  “And I shouted for you. Told you to get a gun.”

  “I heard.”

  “Then why didn’t you shoot them?”

  His finger slides under my chin, gently lifting my face to look up at him. “You, darlin’. That’s why. Couldn’t get a clean shot at night with the lights out. If I’d fired at them, and they’d shot back, you’d have been in the crossfire. And so would that horse.”